


"Conductor of Light"

by Valeria2067



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angelo's, Fluff, M/M, Magical Realism, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 04:03:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeria2067/pseuds/Valeria2067
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many years after her time as landlady, Mrs. Hudson continues to feed the flames of love and desire for John and Sherlock. And if the boys get a little bit frisky during a dinner out at their favourite Italian restaurant, well, let's hope anyone who notices will keep their secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Conductor of Light"

It’s a funny thing: if you’d asked Mrs. Hudson years and years ago whether she believed in reincarnation, she’d have smiled and told you the story about the teapot, the one with the crack like a wicked grin, and how it never seemed to be in the same spot she’d left it, how it would disappear for weeks at a time and then show up again, even though nobody else had been in or out of the flat.

She thinks now that she must have known about her next life.  Her next lives, really. Would you call each new candle a life? Each new bulb? Dear, dear. Mustn’t worry over it, now must we, darling?

What she is, most of the time now, is light.

And at this moment, she is the light flickering in a candle on the table at an Italian restaurant, a table marked ‘Reserved’ and left empty most nights. She has seen the table through the window (as the streetlight), from the ceiling (as a rather modern piece of arty lighting – she felt perfectly glamorous that whole week), and even a few times from as far up as the surface of the moon. Did you know a beam of light from the moon can see that far, dearie? Oh, such a beautiful place, but much too quiet. Even for someone who was used to being more of the sitting-down type.

A huff of laughter makes her flame flicker for a moment. Ah, those sweet boys, still flirting even at their age. How nice that they found each other. How nice that they finally recognized what she saw the first time they both came to the flat.

But, oh, there is the other man, at the other table. Alone, poor thing. His wife has left him again, and now he is glaring into his wine glass, too angry and embarrassed even to finish his veal piccata.  Perhaps if she could glow just a bit more, he might look over and see how happy her two boys were? Perhaps he might remember what that felt like, being in love.  And wouldn’t that be nice? Yes? Of course.

So glow she does, right from her red, waxen toes to her orange-white forehead, and doesn’t it work like a charm? John smiles and reaches a hand under the table to rest it on Sherlock’s thigh. Sherlock covers it with his own.  Then Sherlock moves their hands over just a bit onto the crotch of his trousers. Oh! Naughty!  Silly boys. But can you blame them?

The sad man looks over just as John begins to rub and knead slowly, methodically. There, love, see? It isn’t all heartbreak and solitude. They love each other, and they – oh. Oh, dear, are you all right? You look a bit green, dear.  Here, let me glow brighter for you. Perhaps it will help.

It does little to help the sad, sickened man, but it helps Sherlock find the courage to reach into John’s lap and unzip the front of John’s trousers – Oh Dear! Boys!  That can’t be sanitary in a restaurant, can it? My word!

You might want to look away, poor man, because Sherlock is rubbing his thumb over the slick head of John’s cock and, well, goodness, that’s hardly proper manners, now is it? But look at them kissing, in a world of their own, the sweet things, can you blame them, really? Of course not.

Oh, dear, you are still looking! Are you sure you want to see… Oh!  Well, it’s a good thing those cloth napkins are big enough to hide your lap, too. Are you feeling warm, now? You’ve gone all flushed, just like they have!  It’s all right, dear, really. Yes, the gent’s is just that way, to the left. No, no don’t feel ashamed. It’s a perfectly natural response, and with your wife away, well, I remember what it was like as a widow, don’t I?

She watches the poor, solitary man get up and walk haltingly away to seek the privacy of a toilet stall.

Ah, no such propriety from Sherlock and John, though. Goodness, they must be nearly finished!  John’s breath is hissing out in little gasps as Sherlock works the shaft and head until – Ah! There they are (and those cloth napkins are very absorbent, too, thank heavens)!   But, dears, there’s food on the way, and you must at least wash your hands, now. I insist!  She glows brightly with determination and concern.

“I’ll just, erm, go first, shall I? Be right back?” John kisses Sherlock right under the strands of grey along his temple.  Sherlock nods and grins.

She recedes to a warm, happy, radiance – one that matches the expression on Sherlock’s face.

For a few moments they sit there in silence, just as they’d done many times back at Baker Street.

Then John returns, an expression of hilarity mixed with horror on his face.

“Jesus, Sherlock!” he half-gasps, half-whispers as he leans in toward his lover. “You won’t believe it!  I just walked in on Anderson having a wank!”

“Ah. Has it put you off your dinner, then, John?”

“You could say that, yeah.  And I think he’s afraid to come out.”

Sherlock grinned again, his sly, cracked teapot grin.

“Interesting choice of words.”

Mrs. Hudson couldn’t help but brighten and flicker like mad.  It had been ages since she’d laughed quite that hard.  

 

 

* * *

 

The lovely [Moonblossom](http://moonblossom.tumblr.com/)’s lovely [Sherlock Fanfic Prompt Generator](http://moonblossom.net/prompter/) provided this winning combination:

 **Character 1** : Anderson

 **Character 2:**  Mrs. Hudson

 **Rating:**  Explicit

 **Genre:**  Magical Realism

 **Location** : Angelo’s

 **Prompt:**  That’s my night job

And I couldn’t leave  _that_  alone, now, could I?  

 


End file.
